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SUMMARY: First of three snapshots of Daemon's time in Chaillot. "…and he plays the piano with Wilhemina, and he reads to us, and he's not like lots of grown-ups who think our games are silly." - Jaenelle on Daemon, Daughter of the Blood by Anne Bishop.
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DEDICATION: For Raya. HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!

DANCE UP A STORM
by Leni

Jaenelle applauded when the song was finished. Daemon took a small bow of acknowledgement, prompting Wilhemina to do the same. In truth, this was one piece the older girl could play without tangling her own fingers on the piano keys.

"Your duets are getting better," Jaenelle said happily, coming to stand between them. She took Wilhemina's right hand and his left one, observing them with something that changed from affection to mild curiosity. "So I'm not the only who doesn't wear her Jewels in public," she noted.

Self-consciously, Wilhemina tried to fist her hand, hide the ring that held her Purple Dusk. The poor girl obviously didn't want to remind her sister that she had no Jewels to wear.

Daemon instead allowed himself to caress Jaenelle's bare knuckles. "Wilhemina only does what we're not allowed to," he told his soon-to-be Queen, remembering the Red and Black contained in his trunks, little more than accessories since Dorothea had forbidden their use.

Sapphire eyes fixed on his black tinted nails. "But it doesn't make a different. Does it, Prince?" Those eyes followed from his nails to his wrist, to the ruby cufflinks that hid a chip of the Red. Her little fingers threaded through his. "We are what we are."

He felt a tight wave of anxiety come from his right. Wilhemina. Who loved her little sister but became uneasy when Jaenelle spoke in that voice beyond her years. He ignored her. "Yes, Lady," was his humble response; he brought her hand to his lips for a soft kiss. A mere Warlord Prince bowing to Witch's wisdom. Oh, it was moments like this when he yearned to be five years in the future, to be able to serve her formally at last.

Jaenelle nodded and, obviously having felt Wilhemina's agitation and less inclined to dismiss it, she smiled brightly and dissipated the taut atmosphere. "Are you going to play something else?" she asked entreatingly, loosening their hands and moving into a complicated pirouette.

Daemon instantly recognized it as a dance step, but none he'd seen in his seventeen centuries though Terreille Territories. "Wilhemina has been practicing a lovely little tune," he answered. In truth, Graff had insisted that the girl learned several songs to entertain at the children's party that would take place during the Winsol festivities. But this one song, Daemon knew that she liked. When the girl beside him didn't react, he touched her shoulder warmly. "Lady Benedict?"

Blue-gray eyes blinked at him.

He smiled and nodded towards the fair-headed child continued through the complicated steps to a tune she seemed to be hearing in her own head. "It seems Jaenelle is ahead of us," he laughed. "Lady Angelline," he called to her. As he'd supposed, Wilhemina didn't protest the name. So the sisters had discussed the matter and the older one had chose to follow Robert's directions.

Jaenelle stopped her nameless dance.

Daemon felt his lips curve up into an indulgent smile. "Please wait for us?"

She tilted her head, frozen mid-movement with her hands held daintily above her head, fingers positioned in an exact shape he still couldn't identify. "But I am," she said, a small frown crossing her features. "You are supposed to follow me."

The obvious disregard for convention roused Wilhemina. "But it's music which guides the dance."

The frown puckered a little more. "Why?"

Wilhemina didn't have an answer, and to tell the truth neither did Daemon. It was those intriguing questions, so innocent at first glance but so revealing as to her inner self, which proved to him she was the one he'd been looking for.

In the silence, Jaenelle looked at the two of them, finally heaving a small resigned sigh. Daemon wanted to take it back, let her dance to her heart's whim and follow her as best as possible. But what was done, was done. So he looked for the proper spreadsheet and, after nudging Wilhemina into action, music filled the room.

He watched from the corner of his eye as Jaenelle tried to continue with her dance, but the smooth movements didn't fit with the piece. The music was meant for cold dance floors and frivolous conversation, where her body tried to speak of the sea and flowers in mid-bloom. Finally her motions staggered and stopped, and she came back to stand next to the piano, looking content with just hearing their playing.

Daemon smiled for her, and he vowed to himself that even if he had to travel through Terreille all over again, he'd find the tune that fit her dance.

The End
23/11/08